


I Know Who You Are

by Morgan (morgan32)



Series: Body And Soul [3]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-15
Updated: 2004-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Thoughts... Sequel to <em>This Is My Body</em> and <em>Groundrules</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Who You Are

Coffins are not as comfortable as beds. That's probably why Angel doesn't own a coffin.

The bed was king-sized, made up with black silk sheets - impressive for a guy who couldn't afford decent coffee. It was made up with blankets rather than a modern comforter: Angel liked his old-fashioned comforts. An hour ago two men, neither of them human, made love in this bed. It was a desperate kind of passion, hands clutching limbs, mouths devouring all they could touch, wordless cries heard by no one but themselves. It had been that kind of day.

Doyle untangled himself from Angel's limbs and slid out of the bed. He definitely should have skipped that last coffee before they went to bed. Staying awake seemed like such a good idea at the time.

He stood beside the bed for a moment. The night air was chill, raising goosebumps on his bare skin. Angel had not been disturbed by Doyle's movement. The blankets were thrown back, exposing Angel's chest. His skin was bloodless white against the blackness. Doyle couldn't look away. In sleep Angel didn't move at all, didn't breathe. His skin was cool. He appeared dead.

Angel was dead.

It was easy to forget that, especially when his touch could make Doyle feel so alive. But Doyle never forgot Angel was a vampire. With a soul, true, but a vampire nonetheless. Not among the living. A demon with a human face.

Doyle headed into the bathroom to take care of business. There was no mirror over the basin. Angel was probably the only person in LA with no mirrors, anywhere. He smiled to himself at that: of course, mirrors were useless to a vampire, but the absence of mirrors seemed like something more than that. Defiance or denial? Did it matter?

A few minutes later, Doyle was sitting on the edge of the bed, just a little reluctant to get back in. It was strange. Angel was a formerly-evil-serial-killer-tried-to-destroy-the-world-cursed-by-gypsies vampire, and it didn't bother Doyle one bit. Their sleeping together could have consequences not nearly as pleasurable as the sex, and Doyle still wanted it. Doyle risked his life - not to mention selected body parts - every time they were intimate. Angel only had to lose control once. None of it was a problem for him. Yet dead was a little more than he could handle, at least when it was shoved in his face like this.

Doyle reached out, his hand hovering just above Angel's pale skin.

_"You need to know what you're getting into."_

_"I think I already do."_

_"No. You just proved you don't."_

Angel was wrong about that. Doyle knew who Angel was. Angel had been in his life far longer than Angel knew. Far longer than Doyle would ever tell him.

Angel was the clearest vision the Powers ever sent to him. Not that _vision_ was exactly the right word. Doyle didn't just _see_, he smelled it, tasted it, heard it. The first time he saw Angel, Doyle felt the pain when Angel's soul was ripped away. He tasted the blood and felt Angelus' fierce joy when he made his first kill in nearly a hundred years.

He hadn't a clue, then, who Angelus was or what the vision meant. He tried to pretend it was just a nightmare. Nothing that mattered. It wasn't easy to do, but he thought he succeeded.

Until the second vision. Doyle saw the girl through Angelus' eyes and knew what she was. He felt the vampire's lust for her, for her body and her pain and her death. He saw the demon and the young witch. He saw it all the moment Angel's soul was restored. He saw the sword in the Slayer's hand and watched her banish him to hell. He understood none of it.

He wondered if the first vision had been sent because he was supposed to prevent the second.

Not long after, Doyle rode the Greyhound to Sunnydale. The compulsion to _know_ was irresistible. He was too late, he knew he was too late, but he had to understand the vision. His demon face allowed him access to the shadows and he mingled, listened and learned. He found wild rumours, impossible stories and outright lies. Eventually, he pieced together a story that might have been the truth. Finally, he could put a name to the face of his vision.

_Angel._

The name was a message. Doyle returned home, convinced the Powers had set him a task...and he had failed.

He stayed drunk for three weeks.

Then, at Christmas, the third vision came. Angel standing on a hillside waiting for dawn. The girl again, come to save him this time, not to kill. Doyle felt Angel's longing and confusion. He began, finally, to understand.

He didn't leave LA. Not this time. He waited for a sign or a message. If it was meant, Angel would come to him...someday. It was just a matter of time.

Such a subtle trap the Powers set for him! _We've all got something to atone for._ Doyle thought he would be a guide, a messenger. He was comfortable in that role. But atonement isn't meant to be comfortable. He wanted to be on the sidelines, to be the mysterious stranger who shows up occasionally with cryptic clues. Angel would be an assignment. Just a job.

Instead, he was drawn deeper and deeper into Angel's quest. Too late, Doyle realised it was impossible to be indifferent to Angel. People might fear him, hate him, envy him or love him, but no one could know him and feel nothing.

What Doyle felt was admiration. And love. And desire.

_I did a lot of damage in my day. More than you can imagine._

Doyle didn't need to imagine it. He knew. Perhaps not all of the specifics, but he had been in Angelus' head. Doyle knew what he was.

And still he trusted Angel more than anyone else he knew.

Doyle climbed back into bed with his undead lover.

_Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?_

Doyle had a good idea. The danger added an edge to the sex. Made it more...everything. Doyle loved it. He embraced it. Yet Angel held back every time. He wouldn't let himself be a lover to Doyle. He drew a line every time. Doyle could be satisfied, but Angel could not.

Doyle couldn't live like that. He wasn't willing to live like that.

Surely..._surely_ the Powers would warn him if he was in danger of going too far?

He leaned across and kissed pale lips.


End file.
